


The Price Of Love

by Warp5Complex_Archivist



Category: Star Trek: Enterprise
Genre: F/M, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2006-03-19
Updated: 2006-03-19
Packaged: 2018-08-16 06:59:05
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,326
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8092177
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Warp5Complex_Archivist/pseuds/Warp5Complex_Archivist
Summary: "Grief is the price we pay for love." Queen Elizabeth et al. (06/19/2005)





	

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Kylie Lee, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [Warp 5 Complex](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Warp_5_Complex), the software of which ceased to be maintained and created a security hazard. To make future maintenance and archive growth easier, I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in August 2016. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but I may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [Warp 5 Complex collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/Warp5Complex).

  
Author's notes: This story was written for MaryC as part of the LJ ENT ficathon. Mary asked for Tu/R first time, heavy angst but with a happy ending. The story covers Season 3 and part of Season 4, focussing on Tucker's fling with T'Pol, but with the ending I would have preferred!  
  
My thanks to Elfâ€”who knows a suspicious amount about electrocution!  


* * *

Lieutenant Malcolm Reed sighed and pushed away his half-eaten meal. Fish was never his favourite and the sauce congealing around an anonymous white fillet made this dish particularly unappetising, but it was all that had been on offer in the unstaffed mess. Slouching down in his seat he tucked his hands in the hip pockets of his uniform, wincing slightly as a sharp edge on one zip scratched along his thumb.

He listened to the silence, remembering how difficult it had once been to sleep with the ever-present hum of the engines. Now, with all essential systems hooked up to the spacedock power grid and everything else offline, Enterprise was disturbingly quiet. Night-time lighting made the spacious mess hall seem small. Dark shadows crept out from the corners of the room while the cool blue lights in the food display cabinets reflected eerily in the panoramic windows, turning the view of spacedock into a cubist patchwork.

Reed sighed and closed his eyes, welcoming his melancholy mood, settling into it with easy familiarity. Normally he wouldn't indulge himself in such a public place but with few people currently living on board he felt safe to allow himself the luxury of a little wallowing in misery.

* * *

The past year in the Expanse had been a nightmare for any number of reasons. Reed wasn't sure how he'd survived some of the situations in which he'd found himself. There were times—especially now—when he almost wished he hadn't.

It was a clich to say that when he stood on the bridge with the rest of the senior staff and saw for the first time the swathe of destruction left by the Xindi weapon his world fell apart. He still sometimes felt guilty thinking of it like that, after all he had lost no one in the attack, it was not his home that had been destroyed. All he had lost was a chance of future happiness. It had taken many weeks for him to accept that this too was a very real loss, one that deserved mourning. The problem was that as others learned to cope with their losses and move on with their lives Reed found no solace, no relief from reminders of what might have been, and consequently spent ever more time wrapped in sadness.

Three years ago, when he was first posted to Enterprise, Reed was, he acknowledged, not terribly good at dealing with people. He was good at his job, could run his department and command those under him, but personal relationships, friendships, never came easily to him. He was, though it galled him to admit it, shy. To disguise this shyness he had adopted for most of his adult life a confrontational, defensive style. It didn't win him any friends, but then it wasn't intended to. It was intended to save him the awkward discomfort of trying to make friends, and up until three years ago it had worked perfectly.

Then he met Trip.

Commander Charles Tucker the third, Trip to his friends—and he had insisted on including Reed in that category, despite Reed's best attempts to prevent it. They argued constantly. Over work matters at first, then off duty too, over any number of unrelated subjects—sport, films, food, the value of tidiness, irritating accents. Gradually it dawned on Reed that the greater part of his off duty time was spent in Tucker's company. And he also realised that not only did Tucker enjoy their time together as much as he did, but that Tucker had apparently stage-managed their whole friendship. Trip Tucker liked him, really liked him, liked him enough to want to spend time with him even when Reed was being objectionable. He did have other friends of course, but a friend with whom he could let his defences down, just be himself without worrying about making the right impression, that was a novelty, and one that he found he enjoyed.

Enterprise had been in space for nearly eighteen months when Reed was forced to accept that his liking for Tucker had developed into something more. The sudden surge of jealousy he'd felt when he and the captain found a half naked Tucker and the alien woman, Kaitaama, wrestling in a swamp had surprised him. Embarrassed, he'd retreated behind a smirk and crude humour, taking a fierce pleasure in Tucker's hurt response, but putting in down to no more than wounded pride.

It wasn't until their return from Xantoras, having rescued a group of Denobulan geologists, that Reed first understood that his feelings might be returned. They'd been arguing over some detail of the mission and Lieutenant Hess, Tucker's second in command, had joked that they sounded like an old married couple. Tucker had laughed and made a joke of putting her on report for insubordination, but Reed had noticed the blush that stole over Tucker's cheeks and the quick, embarrassed glances he darted at Reed when he thought he wasn't looking.

Over the following weeks Reed made it his business to watch Tucker closely, dropping occasional hints, picking up signs, until he was virtually sure he was right. He agonised for days over what to do, what Tucker's reaction might be, and what would happen if it turned out he was wrong. Eventually he decided that their friendship was strong enough to survive come what may—that he would tell Tucker that he was attracted to him and interested in being more than just friends, and if it turned out that Tucker didn't feel the same way, then they would both be able to accept that and stay friends. He reached this conclusion lying awake on the night of April 23rd 2153. The following morning, before he could act on his decision, Captain Archer told them of the attack on Earth and everything changed.

Reed stirred. He should snap himself out of this mood and head for his bed—or maybe the armoury, since he was sure he couldn't sleep—but there was a certain masochistic pleasure in wrapping himself in gloom, in dwelling on his unhappiness as if overdosing on the cause could lessen the pain. Once he could have sought out Tucker and let himself be joked into conviviality, but that option was no longer available to him, even if the engineer had been on board. There was a time, he was sure, when Tucker would have had difficulty understanding Reed's mood, would have been shocked by it even. But times had changed. Tucker had done more than his fair share of wallowing in misery himself these past months, rejecting Reed's every offer to help, every overture of friendship.

Reed sat up straight, pulling his hands out of his pockets and shaking them to relieve the numbness. Coffee—that would help, if only he could be bothered to walk over to the dispenser and get it. Oh to hell with it, he thought with a grim self-deprecating smile. He was on his own time, if he wanted to spend it being miserable, why shouldn't he?

Propping his elbows on the table, he rested his chin in his hands and stared blankly at the window. The gleaming white spacedock faded from his consciousness as he turned his vision inwards and, against his better judgement, replayed once more some of the bleaker moments from the previous year.

Reed had been shocked at how forcefully Tucker had pushed him away, how vehemently he'd rejected all of Reed's attempts to help. They still saw a lot of each other on duty—their departments overlapped—but off duty it was as if they barely knew each other. They still argued, in fact sometimes it seemed that was their only method of communication, but now the arguments had an edge to them. There was an underlying spitefulness to Tucker's comments and, without meaning to, Reed often found himself responding in kind.

Reed had reacted to the news that Tucker was getting help from Sub-commander T'Pol with mixed feelings: whilst he was glad that Tucker was finding some measure of relief, there was also resentment. What could the Vulcan science officer, whom Tucker barely liked, provide that Reed couldn't? But Tucker at least was getting help, and he told himself that that was the most important thing.

Unable to talk things over with Tucker, there were days when Reed found himself overwhelmed. Fears and worries that he knew were irrational would suddenly seem threateningly real. His obsession with Major Hayes was one of those fears. On good days Reed knew that the major was not trying to usurp him or circumvent his authority. Unfortunately, the longer they were in the Expanse the fewer good days Reed had, and the more the old jokes about his alleged paranoia rang true. Hayes' apparently real resentment at being under Reed's command didn't help and Reed often felt he was fighting not only the Xindi but the major as well. And then, of course, there was the day when he did just that—not exactly the highlight of his career!

It became obvious that whatever Vulcan neuropressure involved—and there were many lurid speculations among the crew—it was having a positive effect. There were days when Tucker seemed almost like his old self, when Reed could almost believe that their friendship could be resumed on its previous footing. He snatched at every crumb of hope—every friendly exchange, every shared meal—shocked at how much he needed Tucker, as an anchor in the frequent horrors of his wartime duty and as a promise of hope in the future. He knew it was an illusion. No matter how much they might joke or eat together their sense of easy friendship was gone. The almost proprietorial warmth was missing from Tucker's eyes when he looked at Reed. Even more worrying was the impression that Tucker's relationship with T'Pol was progressing from that of therapist/client into real friendship—and, if the ship's rumour mill were to be believed, even further.

It was after the incident at the MACO training session, when Tucker had ribbed him about his issues with Hayes, that Reed decided to check the truth of the rumours. Tucker had denied them, had said categorically that there was nothing between him and T'Pol. And Reed had believed him. Being lied to hurt, more even than Reed would have believed. He tried not to let it show, not to let it spoil the fragile friendship he was rebuilding with Tucker, but inevitably it did and Reed felt once again cast adrift.

All through the chaos at the end of the Xindi mission, when Reed badly needed someone to talk to—when they met the future Enterprise, commanded by Tucker and T'Pol's son; when Major Hayes was killed and Reed was devastated by guilt and in need of a friend; when Captain Archer was believed lost on the Xindi weapon and Reed felt he was to blame, felt Tucker blamed him—the spectre of Tucker's lying to him came between them.

Then they were home. Captain Archer was rescued, Earth was saved and the crew of Enterprise hailed as heroes.

There was shore leave, family visits, debriefings and refits. Through it all Reed felt the loss of the twenty-seven crew who had died on the mission, still felt responsible, despite the assurances of Starfleet. And he missed having Tucker to talk to.

The final blow to his happiness had come less than three weeks ago when, during a chance encounter in the corridor, an excited Tucker had informed him that he was off to Vulcan with T'Pol. To meet her mother. Tucker had rushed on, oblivious, as Reed stood transfixed, feeling as though he'd been punched in the stomach.

* * *

The mess hall door slid open, the unexpected sound jerking Reed out of his reverie. He looked around, startled, wondering who it could possibly be on the almost deserted ship at this time of night, only to be brought up short.

Tucker looked as surprised as Reed felt. He stopped abruptly, only just over the threshold, so that the door hummed behind him, unable to close.

'Oh, sorry,' he said. 'I didn't think anyone was here. I'll go, leave you to...' He waved his hand vaguely and started to back out of the room.

For a brief moment Reed was too stunned to react, then leaping to his feet, he called, 'No, wait, Trip,' and as the man turned back continued, 'Please stay. I could use the company.'

'I dunno. I'm not at my best right now.'

Reed snorted wryly. 'Don't worry, neither am I. We can cheer each other up.' He walked towards Tucker as he spoke, his concern mounting as he got close enough to see his face clearly. 'Or maybe make each other miserable?' he offered.

'T'Pol got married.'

The statement was so unexpected that it took a second for Reed to register what Tucker had said, then, when he did, he felt a moment of panic as his last pretence of hope was destroyed—they were married, that was the end. But this was quickly superseded by the realisation that Tucker's clear distress was telling a different story.

'I beg your pardon?' Reed said.

'She got married. To some guy she's been betrothed to for years.'

'Are you sure?' Oh, well done Malcolm, Reed cursed himself. 'I mean, I thought...'

'I was at the wedding,' Tucker snapped. 'Look, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offload onto you. I just came for a glass of milk. I'll get it and go.'

'No, please stay,' Reed reiterated, collecting himself. 'Come in and sit down. We won't be disturbed, there's only a handful of people on board and they'll all be in bed. I have a bottle of scotch in my quarters. Let me get it. You look as if you could do with a drink.'

He thought Tucker was going to reject his offer and hovered uncertainly, hands clenched at his sides to stop him grabbing the engineer and dragging him to a seat. His restraint was rewarded when Tucker shrugged and stepped fully into the mess saying, 'I guess a drink would go down well just now.'

Tucker got his glass of milk and sat at a table by the window, his back to the view, while Reed ran along the corridor to his quarters. He was back with the scotch and a couple of tumblers in next to no time and, abandoning his forgotten meal, sat himself at the table alongside Tucker. His hand shook slightly as he poured them both a generous drink, but Tucker didn't seem to notice.

Tucker picked up his glass and downed the contents in one. Reed refilled the glass without comment and Tucker raised it again.

'To broken dreams,' he said bitterly, draining the glass again with a grimace.

'I'll drink to that,' Reed murmured, emptying his own glass.

He poured them each another shot, but for the moment they were both content to sit without drinking, lost in thought.

Eventually Reed took a sip of his scotch, for courage, and asked, 'Are you in love with her?' He gripped his glass tightly, dreading the answer but nevertheless needing to know, to hear Tucker say it.

For a long time Tucker didn't react then, just as Reed had decided that he wasn't going to answer, he did.

'We'd gotten close. What with the neuropressure an' all. I thought...I _know_ she liked me, more than just friends, I mean.' He faced Reed; his blue eyes glistening with unshed tears. 'She was always there for me, anytime, if I needed to talk or...just anything, y'know?' he continued, oblivious to the pain his words were causing the other man. 'When she asked me to go to Vulcan with her I was sure...Then Kos turned up and there was all this pressure for her to marry him.' Breaking eye contact, he looked down at the table. 'Just before the ceremony her mother said I should tell T'Pol that I loved her. Said she deserved to know.'

'Did you?'

Tucker shrugged. 'Why would I? She was marrying Kos.'

It wasn't the impassioned declaration of love that he'd feared, but it was bad enough. Reed swallowed the rest of his drink and refilled his glass, waving the bottle in Tucker's direction, his eyebrows raised interrogatively.

'I'm going to be wasted if I carry on like this,' Tucker said, draining his glass.

'Do you good.' Reed refilled Tucker's glass then said. 'You know I'm here, don't you? If you want someone to talk to I mean.'

'You're real good to me, Malcolm.' He emptied his glass once more before patting Reed's arm with drunken affection. 'Don't know what I've done to deserve it, but wanna let you know I 'preciate it.'

Reed sipped his drink, more as a cover for the sudden rush of emotions that threatened to overwhelm him than because he wanted it. He realised that Tucker wasn't the only one getting drunk and resolutely pushed the glass away.

He couldn't afford to let the alcohol strip away all his inhibitions, not with Tucker sad and vulnerable like this.

'Come on,' he said, standing. 'Let's go to your quarters. That way when you pass out I won't have to drag you along the corridor.' Bottle of scotch in one hand, he used the other to haul Tucker to his feet.

Clutching his own empty glass, Tucker allowed himself to be pointed towards the door, stopping suddenly after a only couple of steps.

'Gotta have your glass too,' he announced, adding, 'Oops,' as some of the contents spilled out. 'Good stuff. Shame to waste it.' He drank the rest of the whisky before draping an arm, and a lot of his weight, over Reed's shoulders. 'You're a good man, Mal. Good friend,' he slurred as Reed slipped an arm around his waist and propelled him unsteadily out of the room.

It was past midnight by the time Tucker finally succumbed to the effects of the whisky and crashed out on his bunk.

Reed made sure he was lying in a safe position then looked around the room, unsure of what to do. There was an inch or so of liquor left in the bottle so he poured himself another measure and sat at Tucker's desk.

I should leave, he told himself. I'm half-cut, tired and depressed—and about to spend what's left of the night with the man I love, who loves someone else, watching him sleep. Wonderful! That's bound to make me feel better!

In the end he stayed until 0500 hours, telling himself it was for Tucker's own good. He turned the lights down low, just bright enough so that he could see Tucker clearly, and finished off the whisky, his thoroughly miserable mood conspiring to stop him getting properly drunk. At five, Tucker woke, mumbled something indistinctly and staggered to the bathroom, where he spent five minutes throwing up most of what he'd drunk. When it sounded like he'd finished, Reed joined him and insisted that he drink a couple of glasses of water before helping him back to bed. Once prostrate again Tucker blinked owlishly at Reed, muttered, 'Oh yeah. Malcolm,' and was asleep again before Reed could respond. Satisfied that Tucker was now asleep rather than unconscious Reed left for his own bed, hoping to snatch a couple of hours sleep himself before work.

* * *

Reed didn't see Tucker again until late the following afternoon. He'd got his two hours sleep and forced himself to eat breakfast, unappealing though the thought of food was. He wasn't hung over, he realised; he was still a bit drunk. Several pieces of toast and marmalade, washed down with two mugs of green tea helped, and he headed to the armoury to bury himself in routine paperwork where his tired, semi-inebriated condition could cause no harm.

Having worked through his lunch break he was finally sent back to the mess by his stomach's insistent demands for food. He was peering in the various cabinets, trying to decide whether it was safe to try the Madras prawn curry when the door slid open and Tucker stepped inside, turning back to scowl at the closing door.

'Damn noisy thing!' The engineer raised one hand to shade his eyes as he surveyed the room. 'An' why is it so darned bright in here?'

Reed, the only other person in the mess, bit his lip. He'd been in a similar condition often enough to know that Tucker was unlikely to appreciate being laughed at. He coughed to draw attention to his presence, startling Tucker.

'Oh, it's you. Wasn't I with you last night? Did you see whatever it was that hit me?' One hand dramatically clutching his head, Tucker walked over to where Reed stood. As he was assailed by the sight and smell of the dish in Reed's hand he took a step backwards and swallowed convulsively. 'You gonna eat that? Because if so you're eating alone.'

Quickly returning the curry to the cabinet Reed snagged a bowl of spaghetti vongole instead, wondering what it was with the spacedock catering staff and their fixation with seafood. Tucker selected a plate of buttery mashed potato and a large glass of orange juice before collapsing into a chair at the nearest table and gingerly tucking in. Reed, happy that the food was finally settling his stomach, was content to concentrate on eating and wait until Tucker was ready to talk.

The food was apparently doing Tucker good too. By the time he'd finished his potatoes and fetched himself a slice of apple pie his colour was better and he was looking somewhat brighter.

'Is that good?' Reed asked. Tucker, mouth full, nodded and Reed went to get a slice.

'Thanks,' Tucker said, when he sat down again.

Reed looked at him, eyebrows raised.

'For last night. I know I wasn't the best of company—getting drunk as a skunk and passing out.'

'No problem. Getting rat-arsed was a good idea, under the circumstances. I just didn't want you to do it alone.'

'Still. Thanks anyway.'

'I meant what I said,' Reed said, adding with a smile, 'assuming you can remember. If you need to talk—about anything—you know I'm here.'

'You're a good friend, Mal. Not everyone would do that, after...' He let the sentence tail off but maintained the eye contact between them.

Reed shrugged and looked away. 'Some things are easier if you have someone to talk to.' He stood up, abruptly aware of emotions welling up that he didn't want to surface in front of Tucker. 'I have to get back to work. The dock armourers are coming on board tomorrow to start the torpedo upgrades and I need to see everything is ready for them.'

Tucker gave a derisive snort. 'Need to protect your babies, you mean.' Reed grinned wryly, acknowledging the truth of the jibe and Tucker found himself smiling in return. 'I'll remember your offer,' he said warmly. 'You have to promise to let me know when you get fed up of me though.'

'That won't happen,' Reed said quietly, leaving before Tucker could say anything more.

* * *

Reed did sometimes wonder if he had been wise to make the offer. Listening to Tucker talk about his feelings for T'Pol, hearing all his hopes and fears for their future together, wouldn't be easy. An understatement! It would be purgatory. But he knew from bitter experience just how painful it was to trying deal with the fallout from a broken relationship on one's own and he didn't want Tucker to have to go through that. And the first time Tucker turned up at his door needing a shoulder to cry on all his doubts fled. However difficult and painful he personally found it he could no more have not offered to help than he could have shot the man.

That first occasion was during their mission to retrieve Soong's Human augments, after T'Pol and the eight other crewmembers had finally been rescued from the Orions. It was only mid-evening, but Reed was tired and already contemplating his bed. When his door chime rang he was tempted to ignore it. If it was important—the captain, or some emergency in the armoury—he was available via the comm. But his innate sense of duty was stronger than his need for sleep; a fact for which he was very grateful when the door slid open to reveal Tucker, strain writ large on his features.

'Can I come in?' Tucker shifted uneasily from foot to foot, as if unsure of his welcome. 'Brought something to repay you for that scotch I wasted,' he added, holding up a bottle of bourbon.

'It wasn't a waste,' Reed protested. 'Yes, please, come it.'

'You're sure? I don't want to impose.'

'Trip, I meant what I said. Anytime. Now get in here and sit down.'

Tucker did as he was told; sitting himself on Reed's sofa while the armoury officer disappeared briefly into his bathroom, reappearing with two glasses. Tucker poured them each a drink, setting the bottle down on the floor besides him as Reed moved to sit at his desk.

'To good friends.' Tucker raised his glass in Reed's direction before taking a drink.

Reed nodded his acceptance of the toast and tasted his own drink. 'Mmm, very nice,' he said, with real appreciation.

'Only fair. That scotch I downed like water was single malt, I seem to remember.'

Tucker twirled his glass nervously in his hands. Reed took another sip from his and sat patiently. This is for Trip, he told himself. He'll talk when he's ready, and if the subject matter is painful, well, at least he's here, and letting me help, for once.

And talk Tucker did, eventually, opening his heart in a way that both pained and gladdened Reed. The subject matter was indeed painful—over the course of three hours Tucker rehashed just about all of his aborted relationship with T'Pol. Reed was glad that he'd not chosen to sit alongside Tucker on the sofa. If he'd been that close he doubted that he would have been able to resist hugging the man to him for comfort—Tucker's and his own.

Reed listened, offering comments where it seemed expected, drinking more than he should to dull the pain, but making sure he stayed sober enough to keep his own emotions under control. This was for Trip: if this was the form that their relationship was to take from now on then he was prepared to accept it. There would be plenty of time later to chastise himself for the sad, needy idiot he was.

* * *

And it was as simple as that. His initial awkwardness over, Tucker began once more to call at Reed's quarters, sporadically at first then more frequently. Eventually they settled into a routine of Wednesday evening visits, providing they were both off duty, and occasionally they attended movie night together.

There were times when Reed could almost convince himself that their friendship was back on its old footing. Then a Wednesday would come around when Tucker turned up angry or unhappy at something T'Pol had, or had not, said or done, and they would spend the evening dwelling again on the perfidy of lovers.

Reed had to be especially careful on those occasions to ensure he neither joined in too bitterly nor gave away his true feelings for Tucker while offering comfort and consolation.

Over the months that followed he was mildly surprised to recognise that the strength of his feelings for Tucker never wavered. He had been half afraid that the nature of their meetings, this continual sharing of the man's confidences, would somehow make him fall out of love. It was both a blessing and a trial to find that was not the case.

* * *

For his part, Tucker was relieved at the apparent ease with which their friendship had been re-established. He wasn't much given to self-analysis, but he did know that the way he had cut Reed out of his life after the Xindi attack on Earth was unkind.

When the attack happened he had just begun to understand how much Reed's friendship meant to him—and to recognise the beginnings of a desire for more, although he had no reason to think his friend even liked men that way.

He had been frightened by how badly he had dealt with Lizzie's death. He had always known, of course, that the death of a close friend or dear relative was painful. Known it academically, that is, it was not something of which he'd had any personal experience: both his parents were still alive and the two grandparents he had lost had died when he was still very young, too young to suffer for long. Enterprise had been lucky for the first two years of their mission. They had been in plenty of dangerous situations but suffered remarkably few losses, none of them someone to whom Tucker was personally close.

But following the Xindi attack everything changed. Enterprise's mission became suddenly more urgent and immeasurably more dangerous. And as tactical and armoury officer, and head of security, Malcolm Reed was going to be in the vanguard of that danger. No amount of MACOs and extra security forces could alter that fact.

The shockingly visceral pain of Lizzie's death had hit Tucker hard. The idea of subjecting himself to that pain again if—when—something happened to Reed was more than he could bear. So he pushed the man away, creating a gulf between them that he hoped against hope would cushion the blow if Reed were killed.

He still didn't clearly understand how he had ended up in a relationship with T'Pol. The initial dislike and resentment he had felt towards the Vulcan when she had been foisted on Enterprise at their launch had dissipated as he got to know her better, but not to the extent that he ever considered her a close friend. When Phlox suggested that she might be able to help him sleep without nightmares the idea of exposing his vulnerabilities to her was repugnant, and he resisted as long as he could.

By the time exhaustion drove him to accept her help he was too wound up to notice at first that she was also unhappy with the situation. When he did question her awkwardness and increasingly un-Vulcan behaviour her answers were evasive, but her, by then obvious, desire that their sessions together should continue helped fill the hole in his life left by his excision of Reed. He still didn't really like T'Pol, he told himself, they still weren't friends, but they gave each other comfort in a terrifying world and that was something he desperately needed.

The neropressure worked, he couldn't deny that. When T'Pol's increasingly erratic and disturbingly affectionate behaviour made him to decide to stop the treatment his nightmares returned. Different nightmares it was true: the one of a laughing Lizzie oblivious to the horror rushing towards her had been joined by dreams of Reed—of him dying on an away mission without Tucker having the chance to say goodbye; graphic nightmares of his death at the hands of the Xindi; and, most distressingly, of him being hunted down and killed by an insane T'Pol. Desperation forced him to resume his sessions with the sub-commander.

Little by little T'Pol pressed her advances on him. He hadn't known that a Vulcan could behave like that, could have feelings like that. He certainly hadn't known that a Vulcan could throw herself at a Human in the way T'Pol came on to him. It was flattering in a strange kind of way, and it helped take away his despair and loneliness. Then, one day, neuropressure segued into foreplay and there was T'Pol, standing naked in front of him. Almost of their own volition Tucker's hands were on her skinny green-tinged body and his lips were crushing hers, and all the pent up emotions of the past nine months were translated into hot, desperate sex.

The following morning, when he met her in the mess hall, he was already regretting his actions and wondering how to say so without insulting her. Her statement that it had all been an experiment on her part, an episode she now considered closed, took the wind out of his sails. It also, confusingly, distressed him. He didn't want a relationship with her, but he wanted to be the one to make that decision. Being dumped—being used—wasn't nice and he resolved to make her rue the day she played Charles Tucker the third for a sucker.

It was a dangerous game, and against all his intentions he found himself falling for T'Pol. No, not falling for her: when he thought about it rationally he still didn't really like her as a person. They never repeated their one passionate coupling, but there was undeniably some kind of connection between them, some pull that kept drawing him back to her. He wondered if the feeling was normal for Vulcans who had had sex together, but T'Pol never mentioned it and it was not a topic he felt comfortable raising.

Then they were back home; the Xindi threat had been neutralised, Earth and Archer were safe. Suddenly life was an anti-climax.

Now that he had time to think, Tucker was surprised to realise that the pain of Lizzie's death, while still there, was no longer a raging fire in his heart. For the first time in a year there was no clear focus to his life.

He'd destroyed any slight chance he'd had of getting closer to Reed. The Expanse had changed Archer so much there were days when Tucker hardly recognised his old friend. He himself had been changed enough that his family were uneasy around him; no one said anything, but the sideways glances showed their discomfort. Or maybe the discomfort was his; the effect was the same either way. All he had left, his only harbour in a suddenly too calm sea, was T'Pol. So when she came to his quarters and asked him to go with her to Vulcan it seemed the right, the logical, thing to do.

Her mother, T'Les's, assumption that there was a romantic relationship between him and T'Pol at first surprised him; in spite of everything that had passed between them, he had never thought of it as a romance. But once the idea was planted it took on a life of its own. He was a stranger in a strange land, in the company of a beautiful and apparently willing woman—all the makings of the archetypical holiday romance—and for the first time Tucker found himself actively courting T'Pol. Then T'Les dropped the bombshell of Kos, T'Pol's fianc and Tucker felt himself cast adrift.

Was he heartbroken? He honestly wasn't sure. But he was bereft, devastated, offended even, and suddenly what had seemed only a few days ago to be a novelty, forced on him by circumstance, became an imperative. He couldn't have T'Pol; therefore he wanted her.

When he walked into the mess hall on Enterprise after a lonely journey back from Vulcan and saw Reed there—Reed who was still concerned for him, still willing to be his friend after all Tucker had put him through—the pressures and frustrations of the mess his life had become were suddenly too much for him. He grasped Reed's nervous overture of friendship like a lifesaver.

That had been five months ago now. Five months during which they'd experienced more life and death situations than any ship deserved to in peacetime. Reed's considered, non-judgemental comments had helped him organise his feelings for T'Pol and see them for what they really were; not love at all, more a coming together of lost souls—a very real comfort to each of them but never destined to last.

He could now see and work with her, even eat and joke with her at the captain's table, without any residual feelings of lost love. Even the strange compulsion drawing him to her had faded over time. And when she came to his quarters and told him that Kos had freed her from their marriage he was able to

say that he was happy for her—since he knew that it was what she wanted—without feeling any inclination, or obligation, to try and resume their relationship.

His life was good: he had resolved the situation with T'Pol; Enterprise was exploring again; Archer seemed to have come to terms with his actions in the Expanse. There was only one thing marring this otherwise happy picture—Malcolm Reed.

As far as Tucker was concerned his feelings towards Reed were back to what they been when the Xindi attacked; close friendship and a growing desire to take their relationship to the next, romantic, stage. He had no idea whether Reed would have been receptive to that a year ago, but he was damn sure that he wouldn't be now. To a casual observer their friendship appeared to have been re-forged as strongly as before—he knew that because Archer had said that

very thing, adding how pleased he was to see it. But Tucker was aware of a subtle change; Reed was keeping him at arm's length. Even when they were at their happiest together Reed was holding a part of himself aloof; although the grey eyes these days were often alight with laughter, there wasn't the warm glow of underlying affection that they had previously contained.

Tucker couldn't find it in him to blame his friend. He was well aware of Reed's 'once bitten, twice shy' nature and in view of the way he had treated the man—forcibly rejecting his friendship in the worst possible way—he resolved to be grateful for whatever Reed was willing to give.

* * *

While they were in the Expanse, and Tucker and T'Pol's relationship was growing stronger almost daily, Reed had resented the Vulcan, although he had tried not to let it colour his dealings with her—not always successfully, he felt. When Tucker returned from Vulcan without her and poured out his story to

Reed that resentment flared briefly into hatred. Five months of conversations with Tucker, coupled with T'Pol's apparent distress over what had happened, had mellowed his feelings. She was married; Tucker was learning to live with that while he, Reed, was once more spending a considerable amount of his off duty time with Tucker, albeit not on the terms he would have liked.

Then, a scant two weeks after Enterprise left Vulcan at the end of a mission that had begun with the tragedy of the embassy bombing and finished with the restoration of Surak to his rightful place in the Vulcan consciousness, he was hit by a bombshell.

Snatching a quick lunch in the crowded mess hall he had been joined by Ensigns Sato and Mayweather. His attention mainly on the work rosters on his padd, he almost missed Sato's tastiest piece of gossip.

'So, what do you think Commander Tucker will do now?'

'Sorry?' He looked up, distracted, when the ensigns' silence made it clear the question had been directed at him. 'I missed that,' he explained, gesturing towards the padd.

'About Sub-commander T'Pol. Commander, I mean! Am I the only one who can't get used to her being a Commander?' Sato looked at them expectantly.

Mayweather shrugged and carried on eating.

Reed wanted to shout, Forget her rank, what about her and Commander Tucker? but managed to maintain an outward veneer of calm as he asked, 'What was your question, Hoshi?'

'Oh. What do you think Commander Tucker will do, now that T'Pol's marriage has been annulled?' Sato said.

'Annulled?'

'Yes. I was there yesterday morning when she told the captain. She said it wasn't confidential,' she added, apparently mistaking Reed's stunned reaction for a rebuke.

'T'Pol's marriage is annulled?'

He was aware that he must sound like an idiot, aware too of the concerned glances Sato and Mayweather were exchanging.

'I'm sure if...when...he, they...' He broke off, getting to his feet, gathering his dishes together as a cover for collecting his thoughts. 'I'm sure whatever Trip and T'Pol decide, they'll let us know when they're ready,' he said, a touch more repressively than he intended. 'Excuse me. I have to get back to the armoury.'

Reed was confused. According to Sato it was over 24 hours since T'Pol had told Archer about her annulment; surely Tucker must also know? In that case, why had Tucker not said anything to Reed when they met for breakfast this morning? Come to think of it, he had been particularly chirpy, excited even. So that was it then: T'Pol was available once more and Tucker was looking forward to resuming their relationship. He tried very hard to be happy for his friend, but try as he might, he couldn't shake off an overwhelming feeling of loss and loneliness. A feeling that was reinforced when he entered the armoury and found T'Pol waiting for him.

* * *

The afternoon was scheduled for work on the starboard phase cannon. They'd been having some problems with deployment—a timing fault that meant that the cannon was in danger of hitting the outer door. It was a two-person job; one outside the cannon port using a manually operated drive to carefully manoeuvre the cannon, the other in the port itself checking for damage and trying to ascertain what was wrong. Conditions at the 'sharp end' would be cramped and awkward, the work repetitive and quite probably frustrating—just what he needed in his present frame of mind. As he headed back to work he ran over duty shifts in his mind, deciding whom to assign as his assistant. He had just decided on Crewman Wilson—an efficient, yet rather shy young woman, who could be relied upon to do the job well without trying to be sociable—when he arrived and saw T'Pol.

'Commander, is there something I can do for you? I am rather busy this afternoon.'

'I am aware of that, Lieutenant. That is why I am here. Commander Tucker has asked me to assist you with the phase cannon diagnostics.'

'Fine.'

He made little attempt to keep the brusqueness from his voice. It was true that he had asked Tucker if he could spare someone to help with the work, hoping that maybe the engineer would find the time to come himself. But Tucker

had people off sick with a gastric virus that was going the rounds following a recent away mission and had had to refuse Reed's request. Now Reed found himself worrying that Tucker had sent T'Pol so that she could break the news to him that she and Tucker were an item again. Working in close quarters with T'Pol was the last thing he wanted at present, although as Tucker had sent her it wasn't something he could do anything about.

'I have the scanner and tools ready,' he said, indicating the small stack outside the Jeffries tube. He reached front of her to remove the hatch door.

'Shall we make a start?'

T'Pol offered to work inside the cannon port as she was the smaller of the two. Reed over-ruled her on the grounds that he had the greater knowledge of the cannon and that he needed to be able to see it moving to figure out where the fault lay.

After forty minutes pressing himself flat against the walls and squeezing past the slowly rotating arm, constantly ducking or craning his neck to watch it move, he was beginning to regret his decision.

'Can you run that sequence again, please,' he called, crouching down for a better view. 'Stop!'

'Is everything all right, Lieutenant?' T'Pol asked, unable to see him from her position outside the hatch.

'Yes, Commander. I think I see the problem. A problem, at any rate. One of the bolts is fouling the gimbal ring. Hang on a minute while I get around to the other side.'

He inched past the back of the mechanism and crawled under the cannon arm for a better view of the bolt in question.

'Right, take it back fifteen degrees, will you. Then forward again at half speed.'

T'Pol started the drive and Reed watched closely as the massive arm swung over him. There was a screech of metal on metal and the arm's movement stopped.

'T'Pol, is that you? Why have you stopped?'

'I haven't.' T'Pol moved to look into the small space. 'Mr Reed, where are you?'

'Here. Under the arm. It must have jammed.' A high pitched whine assailed their ears and, suddenly concerned, Reed started to scramble out. 'The drive's still running. Shut it down. Now!'

As T'Pol shot out of the hatch to the drive controls the whine changed to tortured groan. There was a loud crack followed by a momentary sudden silence.

Turning back T'Pol was just in time to see the lower section of the cannon drop half a metre before swinging forward to collide with the outer door. Reed, who had just got to his feet, was hit a glancing blow on the arm and thrown to the floor against the door.

Rushing back into the chamber, T'Pol dropped to her knees and crawled as near as she could to where Reed was lying.

'Lieutenant, are you injured?'

When the only response she got was a moan she grasped his legs and carefully dragged him out from under the precariously hanging cannon. Once he was out of the immediate danger area she quickly ran her hands over him to ascertain the extent of his injuries.

'Fine...I'm fine,' he mumbled.

'Clearly you are not. Your left arm is broken and you have hit your head. You may have a concussion.'

'The cannon.' Reed struggled to sit up, shaking his head to clear it, immediately regretting the action as a wave of nausea hit him. 'And the door,' he said, head in hands. 'Need to check the door.'

T'Pol pulled out her scanner and pointed it at the outer hatch. 'There is damage to the door, but the seal is not broken. In fact I believe the impact of the cannon has jammed it shut. You may see for yourself,' she added, handing him the scanner.

He looked at the readings, blinked and scrubbed a hand across his eyes befor e peering at the scanner again. Getting hurriedly to his knees he ran a scan of his own.

'Shit! Get out of here, Commander,' he ordered.

'What is wrong? The door is secure.'

'Not the door, the cannon,' he explained. 'The power coupling was damaged when the cannon fell. The firing relay has been polarised. If it discharges without the safeties online it could fire the cannon.'

'Show me where the damage is,' T'Pol instructed. 'You can tell me what needs to be done to reconnect it.'

'Give me a moment,' he said, hanging his head to think.

Reconnection, while possible, was not the most important thing, Reed knew. The main danger was the polarised firing relay, and the chances of that being fixed without the power in the relay jumping along the line of least resistance were slim; and that line of least resistance could be straight through to the trigger, or it could be through the person attempting the repair, neither an attractive prospect. Nevertheless the attempt had to be made: the danger of the cannon firing was very real and if it did fire in the confines of the closed port, even at its current minimum setting, it would cause massive damage to the ship.

Either way, it was a risky situation, and while Reed's main concern was the safety of the ship, secondary only to that was his resolve that T'Pol should be kept out of danger. No way could he risk Tucker having the object of his affections was snatched away just at the moment that she became available to him once more.

While he had been working out what he intended to do, T'Pol had informed the captain of the situation. In response Tucker came on the comm offering his expert advice.

'I've disconnected the feed to that cannon, there's no power running through the system now. But you gotta watch for the static. Your best bet is to try bleeding it. Insulate as much as you can but be careful: even if you can isolate the firing relay that power has to go somewhere and it's gonna pack quite a punch.'

'Understood, Commander,' T'Pol replied.

'You watch yourselves,' were Tucker's parting words and, to Reed at least, the fear in his voice for his colleagues—for T'Pol—was clear.

'Lieutenant,' T'Pol pressed.

'My toolbox, we need that. Help me up, will you?'

Once on his feet, Reed was glad to find his head clearing. He partially unzipped his jumpsuit, tucking his left hand inside as a makeshift sling. Once it was settled the pain was minimal, no doubt due to the adrenaline flooding his system.

He followed T'Pol out of the hatch. Squatting by his toolbox he began to rifle through it for the items he needed, making a small pile of them on top of his insulated gloves.

'That panel there,' he instructed, pointing. 'Open it and strip out the insulation.'

As T'Pol moved to comply he carried his gloves and equipment over to the cannon, assessing the task before him. Fortunately the areas he would need to access were within easy reach. T'Pol joined him and together they wrapped the sheet of insulation around the cannon arm, where whoever was working on it would be most likely to touch it.

Satisfied, Reed stood back. 'We need more insulation.' He crossed to the hatch, T'Pol following him. 'That panel, alpha three nine gamma,' he said, pointing to one about three metres down the narrow corridor. 'It's the feed for the arming mechanism. It's safe now the power is off.'

He waited until T'Pol was crouched in front of the panel, unfastening its bolts, then he stepped back inside the cannon port closing the hatch, shutting the Vulcan outside. He saw T'Pol turn and start to rise as she heard the hatch closing. Thanking providence that it was his left arm that was injured, he worked quickly, to lock the door and secure it with his personal security code.

'Mr Reed, what are you doing? Open the door.' T'Pol's voice came from the comm panel by the door, sounding loud in the enclosed space.

He opened the channel then moved to inspect the damaged cannon more closely while answering T'Pol. 'There's no point in risking both our lives. You should get out of there. Make sure Captain Archer evacuates this area of F deck.'

'There is no reason for you to attempt this alone. You are injured. I order you to open the door, Lieutenant.'

'I'm sorry, Commander, but I'm going to have to disobey that order. For Trip's sake.'

'What? I don't understand.'

'I can't let you put yourself in danger, not when I can prevent it. It wouldn't be fair to Trip.'

'I believe the blow to your head is affecting your judgement. Please open the door.'

'Sorry. If...in case...give Trip my love, will you, please?'

With that he flicked off the comm then hit the panel hard with a wrench to prevent any further interruptions: he needed to concentrate.

Replacing the damaged coupling was actually a simple job: just remove the old part and slip in a new one. It was all click-fittings, easy to work even one handed; in fact given the restricted access to many of the engineering systems on Enterprise, one handed is how it was usually done. The problem was not the replacement, it was the build up of stored energy in the firing relay—energy that he had somehow to get rid of—preferably without killing himself in the process.

His first priority was to isolate the firing relay from the cannon. When the cannons were armed the firing relays were polarised, causing a build up of power, as now. On firing, that power arced across a gap less than a tenth of a millimetre wide to activate the trigger. Theoretically it should be possible to slip a piece of paper-thin, rigid, high-resistance insulation into that gap, thereby isolating the trigger, which could then be removed, completely disarming the cannon. Theoretically.

Normally to reach the firing relay and trigger one had to either climb onto the cannon arm or hang from one of the access ladders bolted to the walls, but with the cannon in its present unnaturally low position that was thankfully not necessary. There was no way he could have climbed onto the cannon safely, even with two arms. Even so, the job was still tricky: he could see the gap clearly; it was at barely waist height but was more than an arm's length away.

Reed awkwardly worked his right hand into the skin-tight insulated glove, getting it down to his wrist by a combination of pulling with his teeth and rolling it along his thigh. When it was as good as he could get it he carefully wiped it on the cloth of his jumpsuit to ensure it was completely dry. Then, picking up the ten-centimetre square of insulation, he wiped that too before taking a deep breath and approaching the cannon.

The distance he had to stretch across was just too far to be really comfortable. It was tempting to stand on tiptoe, but he resolutely kept both feet planted firmly on the deck to ensure he got the maximum protection possible from his anti-static boots as he gingerly reached forward.

It was a nerve-racking few moments as he rested the small sheet of insulation against the trigger and slowly slid it into place, forcing his arm not to shake. Carefully releasing the insulation he took a stumbling step backwards, gulping in air. He was trembling from head to toe, whether from the effort or from shock he wasn't sure, and sweating he realised, turning his head to wipe the moisture from his face against his shoulder.

What he should do next was remove the trigger, but with the insulation leaning against it that wouldn't be easy. He wiped his face again, and his gloved hand, then picked up a small screwdriver and approached the cannon again.

He removed the screws holding the trigger in place on the side facing him, but there was no way he could reach the two on the other side from where he was standing. Sighing, he made his way to the outer door. Hoping that T'Pol was right that it was securely jammed closed, he leaned against it as he inched his way past the nose of the cannon. Once in position, he removed the final two screws on that side then paused to consider his options.

With two hands he could have held the insulation in place while he lifted off the trigger. With only one hand his best bet was to lift both trigger and insulation together. Once the trigger was removed the cannon was safe and he could leave it to Tucker and his engineers to deal with the overloaded firing relay.

He was closer to the trigger on this side, although his view was not as good. Placing his feet a little further apart for balance, he leaned forward, careful not to touch any part of the cannon itself. He grasped the trigger, its rectangular shape fitting comfortably into the palm of his hand, and cautiously hooked two fingers over the sheet of insulation. Slowly he lifted the trigger off its housing, relaxing slightly as he felt it come away. He paused to take a breath. As he exhaled a droplet of perspiration fell from his nose, landing on his index finger. He watched, aghast, as it slid quickly down the slick surface of the glove towards the live contact of the firing relay.

Reflexively jerking his hand and the trigger away, he jumped backwards, only to be brought up short by the wall immediately behind him.

His cry of, 'Oh, fuck,' was drowned by the explosive crack of the firing relay discharging. A blinding flash and the smell of burning were the last things he registered.

* * *

Reed came to slowly, roused by an irritating beeping which he eventually identified as one of Phlox's medical instruments. So, sickbay then. He tried to remember how he had been hurt, but his memory stubbornly refused to co-operate. An attempt to catalogue his injuries failed too as he realised that he couldn't actually feel most of his body. That had to be bad, if Phlox had him so doped up as to be numb. He moved experimentally, only to discover that he wasn't as numb as he'd thought; the sudden shock of pain surprised a groan from him.

'Hey, lie still. You'll damage the new skin,' a familiar voice said.

Trip. Trip was here with him—and holding his hand. At least someone was—his left hand. Wasn't that arm broken? The memory floated to the surface along with the realisation that if Trip was holding that hand, he must have been in sickbay long enough for the bonesetter to work—eighteen, twenty-four hours?

'How long?' he managed.

'Three days. You gave me quite a scare.'

Trip sounded upset. He didn't want Trip to be upset; that's why he'd—

'T'Pol!' He opened his eyes, not realising until then that he'd had them closed, and squinted against the too bright glare.

'She's fine. Everything's fine.'

Tucker stood up, coming between Reed and the lights, for which the injured man was grateful. He was equally grateful for the water Tucker offered him, sucking it avidly through the straw.

'You should have let her help.'

'Had to keep her safe.' Things were coming back to Reed now. 'The cannon?'

'Like you, it got singed a lot 'round the edges, but it's okay. Your guys have gotten it working again. The outer door's fixed, and the hatch, which we had to cut open to get to you.'

Tucker was definitely upset; Reed could see that now as his friend reached out an unsteady hand to brush the hair off Reed's forehead.

'Sorry,' Reed said.

'You're gonna be okay. That's the important thing.'

'And T'Pol. Had to keep her out of danger. For you. Didn't want...'

As he paused, Tucker interrupted him.

'Yeah, she told me what you said.'

Reed had closed his eyes again and Tucker, taking hold of Reed's left hand once more, tugged at it gently to attract his attention.

'You still with me, Malcolm?'

In response, Reed blinked his eyes open again and nodded.

'Good. 'Cause there's something I've got to say and to you and I wanna know you're awake enough to understand.'

'I'm awake,' Reed confirmed, hating how weak he sounded, dreading what he was sure Tucker was going to say.

So sure was he, that when Tucker said something quite different Reed just stared at him blankly.

'You takin' this in?' Tucker asked. 'There's nothing between T'Pol an' me. Not anymore. Not now and never will be.'

'But her annulment,' Reed said, finally finding his voice, 'she's free now.'

'Yeah, she told me. We talked—really talked. She's doing meditation techniques from that book she and the cap'n found to relearn how to control her emotions.'

'That's not fair,' Reed protested. 'She can't cut you out. You're in love with her.'

'No I'm not, Malcolm. That's what I'm trying to tell you. I'm sorry I let you believe that—didn't make things clear earlier. I am in love, but not with T'Pol.'

'Who...' The lump in Reed's throat prevented him saying anything else. What was Tucker trying to tell him?

'Who do I spend all my off-duty time with? Who do I take to movie night? Who do I eat all my meals with, when the cap'n lets me? Who do I let talk me into diverting far more power to the weapons than I should? For a clever guy, Malcolm Reed, you can be amazingly dense at times.'

'You mean...' Reed floundered, almost overcome.

'Maybe this will help to convince you.'

Standing, Tucker leaned down and brushed his lips against Reed's.

As Tucker pulled away, Reed's tongue flickered out, moistening his lips.

'Again.'

Tucker grinned at him and did as commanded, this time with more force, insinuating his tongue into Reed's willing mouth. They were both panting by the time they broke apart.

'I've died and gone to heaven, haven't I?' Reed said.

'I hope not, because if you're dead, so am I!'

Tucker, the panic and fear of the last three days suddenly replaced by euphoria, felt shaky with relief, but that didn't stop him noticing Reed's exhausted sigh.

'You okay?' he asked, worried.

'More than okay,' Reed shifted uneasily and winced. 'But a little uncomfortable,' he confessed.

'You should rest some more. You had some nasty burns; Phlox had to do a lot of regeneration therapy.'

Reed nodded sleepily, letting his eyes close. Suddenly he opened them again, asking anxiously, 'This isn't a dream, is it? You will still be with me when I wake up, won't you?'

'When you wake up, and for as long as you'll have me, Mal. For as long as you'll have me.'


End file.
